


This Side of Paradise

by xiaokaji



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff, George is ACTUALLY not found for a whole year, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, and not confessing to him sooner, but is he really gone? who knows, more tags to come, to which dream deals with his reality of losing his "best friend", vampires and hunters, well unrequited love on sapnap's part
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27961400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiaokaji/pseuds/xiaokaji
Summary: Haunted by the memory of his missing best friend, Dream spends a year struggling with accepting reality. Everyone has already moved on—Sapnap, Bad, and Ant—but he still refuses to let go of the past. After all, how could they dare forget the memory of someone that was once there? How could they forget George?It pisses him off.When you deal with vampires, you aren’t supposed to regret anything once the blood gets on your hands. They’re not alive, and they’re not human. They never were, and they never will be. You don’t apologize to them, nor even talk to them. You pull out your dagger from their heart and leave them to rot on the concrete. You save lives and you get the paycheck. That’s how it’s supposed to be—that’s how it’s always been. However, on a work trip to England, Dream finds himself torn between his morality and his obligations as a vampire hunter when he hears the sweet, ethereal tune of a voice he thought was gone forever."If you're lonely come be lonely with me."---Inspired by the song "This Side of Paradise" by Coyote Theory.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it a nightmare, or is it his reality? Dream struggles to discern between the two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! this is my first DreamNotFound fan fic... just to note that THIS CHAPTER IS THE ONLY CHAPTER IN FIRST PERSON POV
> 
> enjoy :)

I couldn’t move, but he could.

One moment, he was standing across from me. The next, however, I could feel his heartbeat against my chest and the sudden, sultry gasp for air that escaped his thin lips. He was weakened now. His figure, once standing proud from a distance, began to sink down onto the concrete floor. Within the dim moonlight only now do I notice the crimson that links us.

“I have you,” I murmur to him. He’s no longer stiff, but instead melts into my arms as he struggles to clutch onto my shirt. Little fingerprints of red stains the cloth. 

A pathetic whine escapes his lips, “You do?”

I nod, “I do.”

A familiar silence overtakes us as I finally wrap my arms around him. I sit onto the floor while he follows suit, never daring to let go. He continues to press his body weight against mine as if to compensate for the year without touch. But it’s a stupid decision: he’s trying to plunge the dagger deeper and make this moment quicker. Now, the pungency of metal combined with sweat finally hits my nose. I grimace, but only for a moment.

“Out of everyone, I knew it would be you,” his voice is unusually peppy for a dying man. As I gazed into his brown, tear-stricken eyes for, what I anticipate to be the last time, I knew regret would soon come next. But no matter how painful, I force a smile back at him. 

I opened my mouth to speak, to apologize to him and to confess my sins, but my throat felt dry. I couldn’t breathe, not while looking at the display before me. But he knows me, my quirks, my perpetual feelings of caution and guilt. He senses the agony and ache. With a simple gesture of affection, he expels the negativity and the distance between our lips. He lacks warmth, but I don’t mind the cold. I stay. And when he eventually pulls away, I remain frozen. Sometimes, he feels so alive that I forget he was never that in the first place. 

My nose feels sharp as tears begin to prick at my eyes. Begging, pleading, yearning, I ask him, “George, can you stay? Can you please stay? Just for a moment longer?”

But to no avail do I evoke a response from him. He’s even limper now, taking in labored gasps as he rests his head in the crook of my neck. I feel his breath burning against my skin, his lips so close to my veins. This silence is different—rather than submitting to death, he’s yearning for life. I know he is. I hear the drum of my heartbeat in my ears as my hand moves to his hair. I shouldn’t, but I grip his brunette mop and prevent him from pulling away. 

I hear his voice break, “Dream…”

“We’re on a name-to-name basis now. I’m not the hunter anymore, I’m Clay. Just Clay,” I choke out. I shudder, feeling a pair of fangs trace across my skin. 

“You’re going to…” George cautions. 

I cut him off, finishing his line of thought, “Regret this? I won’t.”

It’s not enough to convince the morals within him, but his innate desire for survival submits to the buffet that awaits him. His tongue swirls around my skin and suddenly, it all goes numb.


	2. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream wakes up from his night terror to an angry Sapnap. 
> 
> But it's fine, everything's fine. He's the one that's gone crazy, not Dream.

“Dream?” The first concerned call of his name makes him stir. The papers beneath him shuffle about as he shifts to a more comfortable position. Well, as comfortable as a man could get while being slouched over an oakwood desk stacked with papers.

“Dream.” The second call of his name was more cautious, as if bordering anger. Nonetheless, it falls upon deaf ears.

“Dream!” Gasping for air, Dream finally sits up from his slouched position. The paperwork, crinkled and covered in drool, scatters onto the ground. A feeling of dread pits in his stomach as he averts his gaze from the floor to a visibly vexed man standing at his side. It didn’t take much to pick-and-prod at Sapnap’s nerves, and judging by his furrowed, dark brows and downturned lips, Dream knew he had committed some sort of grave, unconscious error.

“You were…” He holds his breath as he awaits the verdict.

“...screaming in your sleep again,” Sapnap finally finishes his sentence. Unspoken discomfort floods the room as silence endures.

“Oh. I guess I was,” Dream mumbles in response. Absentmindedly, his fingertips trail along the skin of his neck while his eyes peer down towards his shirt—he feels no bite mark and he sees no blood. His chest sinks. So it was just a nightmare after all.

However, his half-assed revelation wasn’t enough to satisfy Sapnap. He’s always been the pushy and vigilant type despite his laidback nature, but it's his tenderness which made Dream admire and respect him as a friend. He was always one call away—or in this case, one shout.

All commendation aside, he doesn’t realize Sapnap had been pacing around while droning until the floorboards beneath them began to creak. It’s an annoying sound; the wood belches and reverberates off the concrete walls and rings throughout the halls. You could hear it from any part of the house, whether you were standing in the attic or sitting in the basement. If anything, he should have been more enraged at the terrible cabin they’d been assigned rather than Dream’s antics. Regardless, he tunes in to the tail end of Sapnap’s rant: “...saying that for the past week! Come on dude, you’ve been overworking yourself ever since you got here. And whenever you do get sleep, you end up screaming and waking me up. I think that’s enough of a red flag right there.”

Dream stands up and turns his back. There, sat atop the windowsill, was his mask. It propped the curtains open, allowing him a view of the world outside. Cypress trees littered the general area and a shabby, dirt road interweaved with the forest. The empty path seemed to stretch out for miles beyond the horizon, but it was only just an illusion of the night. He knows the road diverges a couple yards ahead. In fact, every time they venture out, Sapnap chooses to go right instead of left.

“You’re always…” Sapnap’s voice fades as Dream averts his gaze to his mask.

Despite being approximately three years old, the smooth birchwood was still in mint condition. There weren’t any cracks, stray splinters, nor marks of dirt. He takes it gently into his hands and rests it on his face. The surface had a perfect curvature which hid his identity well without diminishing his voice or his ability to breathe—it felt familiar, safe. Moments later, he conceals his whole face with a soft click of the black clasp behind his head. Only now was Dream ready to discuss reality.

Sapnap’s furrowed brows and curved lips disappear upon the sight of Dream’s unsettling mask. He presses his lips together, then musters the courage to grip the other’s shoulder. It’s a tight, reassuring squeeze. Nonetheless, a thick fog still divides them. Sapnap stands on the exterior, gazing into its center only to see the hazy silhouette of the man he once knew. Every day it grows thicker, and every day he loses more and more sight of the other. Sometimes, he can’t separate reality from the fog.

“You don’t have to hide from me!” Sapnap shouts. He yanks his firm grip away from Dream’s shoulder and steps back.

Dream’s chest rises as he, too, fires back, “Well, you don’t have to pity me!”

“Pity you? Why would I pity someone like you!” Sapnap steps forward, shoving Dream backwards. He slams into the concrete wall. The adjacent bookshelf rattles as books scatter onto the floor. Grabbing Dream by his collar, he pulls him down to his height. “I’m your friend! And as your friend, I have to help when something’s wrong with you!”

“Look, nothing’s wrong with me. Just stop messing with me, Sapnap.” Monotonous, he pries off the Texan’s grip from his hoodie.

Sapnap’s anger transforms into hurt as the tension in the room dissipates. Dream turns his back, again pacing towards the window. He pushes the curtains aside, turns the safety latch, and lifts the glass. The cool, autumn breeze is the first to soothe his senses, followed by the soft lull of crickets and scent of fresh dew. It’s taken him awhile to adapt to English weather; the days are cold, gloomy, and short. The air, however, feels more fresh. They weren’t there for vacation, but he partially enjoys the escape from the blazing heat and humidity of Florida. His mask smiles for him.

Once more, he fails to realize the lack of Sapnap’s presence until the light of the hallway turns into nothing but a sliver underneath the deciduous wooden door. He hears him pace up and down the hallway. Soon, a second pair of footsteps join him. All the commotion, he assumes, must have woken either Bad or Ant. It was difficult to discern their muffled voices over all the creaking, but they too fall silent once they retreat into a different part of the cabin. They’re all left to their own vices.

The drum of his own heartbeat is a vulgar sound as it overwhelms his hearing. Dream isn’t sure why his chest heaves the way it does: up, down, up, down, up, down. Unclipping his mask, he tosses it to the floor and gasps for air. No matter how many breaths he took, he couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen. His lungs felt tight. The tips of his fingers and feet tingled. His senses were in overdrive. He feels sick.

Within these moments of fragility, Dream finds himself tearing off his facade and squatting on the floor. He cowers. Of course, he thinks to himself, there isn’t anything inherently wrong with him. He’s able to hunt and his ability to perform as a leader commands respect. He’s always prepared, he’s always focused, and he’s always logical. Rarely does he demonstrate weakness in front of an audience. Lately, however, an immense wave of despondency clouds his vision. Dread and panic are frequent visitors in his life; it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to maintain his composure. But regardless, Dream knows there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s being perfectly rational! If anything, Sapnap was the problem.

Yet he couldn’t blame him for his concern. They’ve known each other ever since they were children, after all. Playfully arguing over playground rules sadly transformed into disputes and brawls—their amiability deteriorates with every punch and blow. Their trip to England and their shared roof only increased their tensions as Sapnap barges in at least multiple times a day to interrogate him. Sooner or later, one of them will break. Then, their cooperation will only manifest through missions; outside of their team, they’ll be nothing but strangers. He predicts this pattern will continue with the remainder of his friends. He rarely talks to Ant anymore—Bad has already given up on him. They’ll just be allies.

“Stupid…” Dream manages to huff out. He’ll worry about the repercussions of lost friendships when the time comes. For now, he places a shaky hand onto his neck. His cold fingertips press against his fiery pulse. There’s no bite mark, he reassures himself. There’s no blood on his hands. George’s blood isn’t on his hands!

But why is he tortured by that nightmare? What does George have to do with anything?

His face scrunches up. No longer holding back his tears, they flood down his cheeks and permeate his jeans by the dozens. He knows George is long gone, yet his presence still haunts him. He imagines him in his normal attire, always showing up in his dreams wearing a loosely fitted grey sweatshirt and his infamous—yet stupid, as Dream used to tease—clout goggles above his forehead. His gentle smile never conveys any sort of animosity no matter how many mistakes Dream made, and he always knows that those cold eyes of his are warmer than what they allude to be. He always seems like a touch away, but he’s not, and that’s what hurts him the most. George is missing. George is gone.

He reasons that his nightmares must correlate with the change of scenery. Back in Florida, he rarely dreamt about George, and at most, his terrors lasted for three days out of the whole month. Now that he’s in England, he’s faced with reality. They’re only so far from Brighton, that once lively, beachside town where George used to reside in. And the fact of the matter is that he would no longer be found in that town. He won’t be found anywhere.

By now Dream’s palpitations have gone dormant. The gentle lull of the crickets ease his body to slink down onto the floor. He doesn’t want to get up, nor does he want to move. His eyelids are heavy; he’s exhausted from his episode of irrational panic. He curls up into a ball, hugging his knees and shutting his eyes while listening to the world around him. The wind is howling now; the curtains flutter and slap against the concrete wall with repeated bangs. But Dream doesn’t bother to close the window. He remains there, still and shivering, on the redwood floor.

Although he yearns for it, he fears sleep. Once he loses sight of the world around him and enters into his dreamscape, George will be there waiting for him. His touch will be ethereal, and his kiss will be tender. There’s nothing in this world that could replace the euphoria he feels around George, even if it meant he’d wake up frustrated or screaming. A fuzzy feeling pits in his stomach as he imagines him in his embrace. Perhaps, Dream thinks to himself, nightmares aren’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted to clarify a couple things...
> 
> 1) why do they not call each other by their real names?  
> in hunter society, they typically use fake names to conceal their identities. it's also a sign of respect from hunter to hunter. so, despite sapnap and dream knowing each other as children, they continue to use false names with each other as a sign of respect (also, i didn't want to use their real names in the fic unless for... special circumstances). 
> 
> 2) what exactly is the dream team's occupations?  
> they're vampire hunters! more will be elaborated about that in the future
> 
> i hope you're enjoying the fic so far! please feel free to leave any critiques in the comments :)


End file.
